


Drawing Lines

by GreyLiliy



Series: Life in Glass Houses [2]
Category: Transformers: Prime, Transformers: Shattered Glass
Genre: M/M, Shattered Glass
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:34:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8089108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyLiliy/pseuds/GreyLiliy
Summary: Dreadwing shouldn't be drawing pictures of Yellowjacket. Someone might find them, and Yellowjacket is one secret he can't afford to have get out.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blueskyscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueskyscribe/gifts).



> Fanfic for the Life in Glass Houses Universe. "Yellowjacket" is the Shattered Glass Bumblebee.
> 
> These two idiots won’t leave me alone. This one’s from Dreadwing’s point of view because he keeps screaming at me. Also, I think by the end of this I’ll have covered just about every scene from YJ’s fic “The Secret Seeker.” XD

Dreadwing shouldn’t be drawing Yellowjacket.

He hunched over his sketchbook, filling in the black parts of Yellowjacket’s plating with an ink pen, extra careful when he filled in the sections around the drips of energon he’d sketched. Dreadwing blew on the page to dry the ink, and sat back as he took in his drawing: Yellowjacket killing a Citizen.

Dreadwing really shouldn’t be drawing Yellowjacket.

But he had to. During the battle yesterday, there’d been that one perfect moment when Dreadwing turned and saw Yellowjacket in the evening light with that burning, crazed look in his optics that made Dreadwing’s spark pulse.

Yellowjacket had always been sort of cute when he was in a good mood or teasing Dreadwing. Doubly so when he was rambling on about some cute human thing or another, but in that moment, he was nothing but mesmerizing. Dreadwing had to capture it on paper and his fingers had desperately itched for his pens and ink, but had to settle for burning it into his memory to recreate later when he had a chance.

Dreadwing picked up his blue paint. He wanted to fill in the energon with his oil paints and highlight it with a new white touch up pen he’d made. Dreadwing carefully filled in the lines, though didn’t sweat it when the blue bled across the inks. Yellowjacket was hardly so neat and tidy, so his portrait shouldn’t be either.

Trauma would have a field day if he ever found out Dreadwing had found an Autobot killing their allies attractive.

Worst of all, not five minutes after Yellowjacket had finished attacking the citizen that inspired his picture, Skyquake had side-tackled the tiny mech into a wall. The fight that happened afterwards was pretty intense, even for those two.

It had been going as usual with them trading equal blows, up until Skyquake and a stray Vehicon collided. When he hit the ground, wing bent, Yellowjacket suddenly found he had the upper hand and decided he was going to keep it. Vicious even for Yellowjacket, he tore into Skyquake with almost the same ease as he did Citizens.

Worst of all, Dreadwing couldn’t even get over to attempt to split them up (he’d done it before, a misplaced canon fire here or there to get some distance between them) because a new swarm of Vehicons attacked the main fighting groups that were between Dreadwing and his Twin.

By the end of it, Skyquake had gotten lucky. His spark and life saved because Megatron had ripped Prime’s arm off and the Autobot leader called an immediate retreat. Yellowjacket had already abandoned the fight with Skyquake at Prime’s shout of pain, leaving Dreadwing’s twin on the ground leaking Energon in at least three places, but still alive.

Dreadwing dotted his picture with loose splashes of paint in that energon blue, the splatters uneven and sticking to the page.

Yellowjacket had sent Skyquake to the Medbay last night with two major torn lines, a missing wing and a dislocated hip joint (to just name a few of the things on the list when Dreadwing had asked Knockdown for the diagnosis), and Dreadwing was still going to frag that little brat the next time he saw him at the junkyard.

The energon paint was finished on his picture. He put the brush down back in the water colors and picked up a new color for the Citizen. He mixed the right color orange and started on the other half while Yellowjacket’s side of the portrait dried.

Dreadwing rubbed his thumb against the page, careful to stay in the lines. Part of him felt guilty that he could still care so much for Yellowjacket, even knowing what he was capable of. And who he’d hurt and will hurt in the future, but all the same: Yellowjacket was someone really special.

He still remembered the day Yellowjacket went from Psychotic Autobot to (what would become) his “Bee” like it was yesterday. Dreadwing smiled, finishing up the orange. He traded for a black pen to shade in the torn and shredded internals of the Citizen.

How could he forget the first day Yellowjacket turned Dreadwing’s entire world upside down?

Even back then, the junkyard had been Dreadwing’s sanctuary. A place where he could find new human things, and see what could be salvaged from the lost and tossed away things humans had abandoned, and what he couldn’t. The sorting of garbage was almost therapeutic at times; mindless and calming. When he wasn’t collecting, Dreadwing could watch the river and more importantly: he could be alone.

Up until the day a wild black and yellow Autobot came roaring into his junkyard, attempting to blow his helm off.

Dreadwing had just found a perfectly fine wooden table, and he was looking it over, trying to figure out why anyone would throw such a perfectly good piece of furniture out when he heard the screech from his left side. Dreadwing barely had time to dodge to the right before Yellowjacket’s canon shot hit him in the thigh.

It was just a graze, thankfully, which gave Dreadwing time to recover and take in his opponent. The Autobot was furious, his vocalizer spitting sparks and hisses, and Dreadwing was feeling pretty livid himself. This was his sanctuary, and this little grounder’s intrusion was not appreciated in the least.

Dreadwing had little memory of the fight itself, but he did remember the moment Yellowjacket missed his footing and tripped over a piece of trash that had shifted during their scuffle. His hand smashed right into the human table, breaking off one end and splintering the wood beyond repair.

Maybe it had been because Skyquake and Airachnid had been particularly annoying that morning. Or maybe it was because Knockdown and Trauma couldn’t take the hint that Dreadwing’s human collection wasn’t a sign he needed to get out more. Or maybe it was because he’d dropped an ink bottle on his sketch book right before he’d left for the dump because Brakeline knocked into him when he was trying to draw on the deck. 

Or maybe it was just the Autobot in his junkyard was wrecking one of the few things on this planet that made him feel at home, but Dreadwing completely lost it.

“Slag! You fragger!” Dreadwing shouted, fists clenched before they pointed accusingly at Yellowjacket. “You smashed the table, you clumsy idiot! Do you have any idea how hard it is to find human furniture that isn’t broken? And that one had hand carved decorations! I’m never going to find anything like that again!”

Yellowjacket looked down at the table, and back up at Dreadwing. He’d yet to get up from the ground and his twisted vocalizer managed to sound awed and half-impressed when he asked, “You like human stuff?”

Dreadwing’s brain shut down near completely. He couldn’t have heard that, but Yellowjacket scrambled to his feet and his eyes were wide and curious. He looked almost hopeful for five nanoseconds and Dreadwing couldn’t help the sheer confusion in his voice when he asked, “Do you?”

As if he had just realized what happened and what he had blurted out, Yellowjacket schooled his features and his door wings shot up defensively as he shouted, “What of it?”

“Nothing,” Dreadwing said, still wrapping his mind around that admission. Yellowjacket had pretty much stopped fighting all together to maintain an air of defensiveness, and it was surreal to see him so calm and still. “I just have’t met another Cybertronian who liked humans.”

“Because they wouldn’t know a cool thing if it hit them in the face,” Yellowjacket said. He looked off to the side, glaring at Dreadwing. “Just my luck the first time I meet someone else who noticed that humans are neat and it’s a stupid Decepticon.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Dreadwing said, trying to force the smile away.

There was no way any of this is real. He had to be in the middle of a drugged daydream or something in the medbay. Maybe he was bleeding out and dying and this was his weird subconscious telling him that he needed to get a grip.

But it wasn’t, and it was very real, and Dreadwing was standing next to an Autobot that apparently shared his hobby of human watching.

“Is that,” Yellowjacket stopped, looking around the area. His wings kept twitching and it took Dreadwing a moment to realize Yellowjacket was looking for anyone who might be listening in. When he was satisfied they were alone, he asked, “Is that while you’re in my junkyard? You’re looking for human things?”

“Your junkyard?”

“Yes! My junkyard!” Yellowjacket yelled. “I come here every week to collect stuff. Have your ugly holoavatar ask Maggie at the main gate if you don’t believe me! She’ll totally vouch!”

“I believe you,” Dreadwing said, holding his hands up. He hated the well of jealousy that bubbled up, but he couldn’t help it. Yellowjacket was a car. He could actually talk to the lady at the front desk just by driving up. He didn’t have to just see humans from a far, and hope they looked up at the jet flying overhead. Dreadwing shook his head and decided to set the record straight instead of feeding the jealous wave. “But I come here all the time, too. It’s as much my junkyard as it is yours. Though it’s almost sort of funny we’ve never run into each other before.”

“How often?”

“Once a week.”

“Me too.” Yellowjacket replaced his canon with his hand. He squat next to the broken table and picked up the pieces. His finger tapped on one of the carved edges. “We probably shouldn’t fight here.”

Dreadwing nearly pinched a conduit wire to see if he was dreaming. Yellowjacket—the Autobot that went toe-to-toe with Skyquake on a regular basis and cut through Citizens like they were tissue paper—sounded reasonable and was talking about not fighting.

And he had thought things were surreal before.

“I agree,” Dreadwing said. “Too easy to draw attention to ourselves or break something, and then neither of us can find new things.”

Yellowjacket flicked his doors. He looked up, and looked down. Like he was thinking really, really hard about something. It took him another few nanoseconds but eventually the little mech caved. “What’s the coolest thing you’ve found?”

After that, Dreadwing found himself in what might have been the most civil (albeit littered with insults to the Decepticons and everyone Dreadwing knew) conversation with an Autobot he’d ever had.

And they repeated it the next week, and then the next, until it was pretty obvious they’d both adjusted their schedules to make sure they’d be there at the same time to trade and talk about whatever cool human they’d seen. Sure, most of that half of their conversations came from Yellowjacket (again, Dreadwing smothered his jealousy), but they were always great to hear.

Dreadwing pulled out the blue paint again, splattering it behind the Vehicon in the portrait, a small smile tugging on his lips. Getting to see the other side of Yellowjacket was what kicked off the total revamp of Dreadwing’s world view.

At first, he had the absolute worst time of trying to process that the terrifying Autobot that killed his teammates and fought with his brother was the same little Autobot that squeaked when he talked about human children and how adorable they were. Dreadwing just couldn’t figure out how these two radically different behaviors were the from the same mech.

So he watched Yellowjacket closely whenever they met, be it on the battlefield or in the junkyard. And one day, his eyes wandered over to Skyquake while they were at each other’s throats. Dreadwing had to pause, as he finally got a good look at his Twin in the field: Fierce and angry in the middle of battle. 

That was when it hit Dreadwing: The Decepticons only saw the Autobots when they were fighting.

If Dreadwing only saw his brother Skyquake on the battlefield (larger than life, tearing through Vehicons as easily as the Cons tore through Citizens and punching Autobots in the face), he’d probably have a hard time believing that Skyquake snorted when he laughed and played board games in his downtime. 

If the only time Dreadwing saw Airachnid was when she had her webs spread, trapping the enemies and legs tearing through the enemy, he’d never be able to believe she played childish pranks on Knockdown at every opportunity. If Dreadwing only saw Lord Megatron in the heat of battle, he’d never be able to process that the gladiator was the same eternally kind soul that took all of them in and helped them escape Cybertron.

Every Decepticon was capable of having more than one side to themselves; their sparks were multifaceted.

So why did they all believe that the Autobots were nothing but pure evil? They were Cybertronians, too. They were people, just like Dreadwing and his family. With that in mind, it wasn’t so hard to believe that Yellowjacket could be cruel or kind if he wanted to be, just like anyone else.

It was about a week after that revelation that Dreadwing and Yellowjacket had started fragging.

Dreadwing put down the energon paint, and looked at the speckles of it that had fallen on his hand. He picked up his white pen, and began to add highlights to his sketch.

He hadn’t exactly shared this revelation with anyone, though. The Autobots were still the enemy and a very real threat. Dreadwing’s newfound sympathy for the other side could possibly be tolerated, but it would never be understood (and he might actually be in trouble for treason if they knew that relations were involved). It might even harm the team dynamic of the Decepticons, and hurt them in the field.

Dreadwing wasn’t a traitor, no matter how much he loved someone on the other side.

His hand jerked on the page, sending a white line across the page. Dreadwing loved an Autobot. He licked his lip and drew a parallel line next to his mistake, turning it into an action line. He drew a few more to match, making it look more like it belonged, and not just the erratic mark that damaged his page after a shock.

“I love Yellowjacket,” Dreadwing whispered. It was something he had always sort of known, but never quite committed to. If he thought it, it’d be real. If he admitted it, it would be real. Dreadwing said it louder, adding more lines to the page. “I love Yellowjacket.”

Dreadwing dropped the highlight and grabbed the red pen, ripping off the cap. He leaned over his sketch, coloring in the lines of Yellowjacket’s mechanical optics as slow and cleanly as he could. It was the only part of Yellowjacket that was always focused and clear. His portrait should reflect that. Dreadwing’s intakes worked faster.

He loved when Yellowjacket got excited. Dreadwing loved it when Yellowjacket called him “Blue” no matter how many times he lied to the little guy that he hated it (because he knew Yellowjacket was never going to stop; it was their game at this point). He loved it when Yellowjacket got serious and ran across the battlefield like he belonged there. 

Dreadwing loved it when Yellowjacket was covered in energon and his engine revved. He loved it when the grounder tore across highways in his vehicle mode, going faster than any human vehicle should be able.

He loved when Yellowjacket roared. He loved when Yellowjacket got overcharged and crawled over Dreadwing’s lap like it was his own personal chair. He loved when that little aft pretended he was an innocent capable of no wrong. Dreadwing loved it when Yellowjacket covered up his embarrassments with easy-to-see-through lies.

Dreadwing finished coloring in the eyes, and leaned back as he stared at the page. He loved—

“Hey, Bro! What’re you drawing?”

Dreadwing slammed his sketchbook shut, hand on the cover and eyes wide as he turned around to see Skyquake standing in his doorway, looking far too amused. “What are you doing here? I thought you were in the medbay until tomorrow?”

Skyquake laughed, making his way into the room and shutting the door behind him. He still had patches here or there that needed their dents fixed, but mostly looked okay. “Brakeline dropped some tool or another and broke it. Knockdown came over to help him and then they started doing that couple thing they do where they’re fighting but making goo-goo eyes at each other at the same time.”

“So you escaped.”

“So I escaped,” Skyquake said, winking. Dreadwing rolled his optics. His brother hated being in the medbay. Skyquake took a few mischievous steps closer. “What were you working on?”

“I hope you go back to Knockdown tomorrow and make sure nothing is still loose,” Dreadwing said, slipping the sketchbook to the side. “You were in really bad shape, and you’re still looking a little dented.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” Skyquake said. He helped himself to a spot on the floor and made a grab for the sketchbook. “I want to see! What’s so secret?”

“Skyquake! I wasn’t working on anything!” Dreadwing said, pushing it out of reach. “You’ve already seen all these.”

“Don’t give me that,” Skyquake said, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve got your paints out and they’re still wet. At the very least you were coloring something.”

“I’m serious, there’s nothing to show,” Dreadwing said, his spark pulsing faster. Skyquake absolutely could not see his latest drawing. That would be a disaster upon disasters. “You’re going to break something if you keep rough housing.”

“Now I know it’s something good,” Skyquake laughed. “What’d you do? Draw something naughty of Airachnid? Or did you finally give into your spark and do a pin-up of Trauma?”

“What?” Dreadwing asked, jaw dropping.

His moment of shock was enough for Skyquake to dive down and snatch up the notebook, cheering in success. Dreadwing matched Skyquake’s enthusiasm with his own brand of internal distress because that idiot was already opening the book and he’d found it and—

“What the slag?” Skyquake asked, staring at the near-finished portrait of Yellowjacket and his Citizen victim. He looked up at Dreadwing, eyes wide and back down at the sketch. “What’s this?”

“A picture,” Dreadwing said, gritting the back of his teeth. “It wasn’t meant to be shared.”

“It’s kinda morbid, bro,” Skyquake said, looking at the picture fully now. Dreadwing winced at the smudges on the Citizen’s side, where the paint hadn’t fully dried. “You don’t normally draw this sort of thing.”

“One, you do not see everything I draw,” Dreadwing said, tugging his book back from Skyquake. He flipped the front over to work on the picture again, holding it near his chest. “And two, I’m not always in the mood to draw something happy.”

Skyquake was still staring at Dreadwing like he was crazy. So he needed to make something up before Skyquake started asking more questions that had answers Dreadwing knew he wouldn’t understand.

“Sometimes I want to draw something angry, and Autobots are easier to picture that way,” Dreadwing said, keeping his eyes face down on the page. He drew his shoulders down, trying to look embarrassed. “It’s not that big of a deal, Skyquake. It’s just something I needed to get out of my system.”

At least that last part wasn’t a lie.

“No, no,” Skyquake said, holding his hands up. He rubbed the back of his helm and knocked their shoulders together with a soft smile. “I get it. When I get angry or upset, I go beat stuff up in the arena or fly until I exhaust myself. You vent with your art. Same thing, if you think about it.”

“Yeah, it’s something like that.”

“Sorry I didn’t understand right away.”

“It’s fine.”

Dreadwing let out a deep sigh. He was safe. He was safe and this worked as a great cover. Maybe if it was just Skyquake who knew, Dreadwing could draw more freely instead of hiding it away. His brother would—

“Why’d you draw Yellowjacket, though?” Skyquake said, scrunching his nose. “I mean, your art’s great, but you made him look so terrifying here. He’s a little fragger and I think you’re giving him too much credit.”

“He was on my mind,” Dreadwing said, using every inch of willpower he had not to smile. Another truth had snuck in. Maybe he could get through this without as much lying as he thought. “That’s all.”

His twin hummed quietly, and pressed a finger into one of his dents. “Because he trashed me yesterday?”

Dreadwing pressed his lips together, his spark squirming in his chest. He really wished he could say yes, but the vision of Yellowjacket ripping apart that Citizen was the one that stuck.

Skyquake misunderstood Dreadwing’s inner dilemma as confirmation and hugged him with one arm. “Hey, I’m sorry I worried you, bro. But that’s never going to happen again. Yesterday was a freak accident and there’s no way that rotten little Autobot is going to get one over on me like that again.”

Dreadwing snorted.

“I’m serious,” Skyquake said. He squeezed them together in a tighter hug. “Next time I see that black and yellow menace, I’m gong to pay him back ten fold. That broken vocalizer will be the least of his problems when I’m done with him.”

“I know you will,” Dreadwing said.

It was the right thing to say, and Skyquake’s answering relieved smile confirmed it. Dreadwing smothered the nauseous feeling that was churning his tanks. Not that he could get mad at Skyquake. Not only did his Twin not know what Yellowjacket meant to Dreadwing, but Yellowjacket wouldn’t hesitate to shoot out Skyquake’s spark if he got the chance. The two most important people in Dreadwing’s life would kill each other in the flicker of an optic.

“It is good though,” Skyquake said, looking down at the picture. He tugged on the side. “Really disturbing, not going to lie, but it’s good.”

“All the same, I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us,” Dreadwing said. He leaned against Skyquake, desperately keeping his fingers from tightening on the edges of the page. “It’s a little personal, and I don’t think any of the Citizens would appreciate it or understand like you do.”

“Of course,” Skyquake said. He patted Dreadwing on the back and smiled. “Secret’s safe with me, bro.”

“Thanks,” Dreadwing said.

He reached down and grabbed his black pen. He touched up a few lines that had smeared while Skyquake watched. When he was finished, he folded the page down the middle and closed the other sketch pages over it.

“All done?” Skyquake asked.

“For now,” Dreadwing said.

“Good,” his twin said. He shook Dreadwing’s shoulder and nodded his head toward the door. “Let’s go get an energon ration and then play that human game you like. You’re going to go run off to the dump tomorrow right? So you might as well hang out with me tonight.”

“Alright, I’ll meet you there though,” Dreadwing said. “I need to clean up all my paints.”

“You better be there soon,” Skyquake said. He stood up and rubbed his arm. “Though before I go, one more thing.”

“What?” Dreadwing asked, trying not to flinch.

“In the future, if you ever feel like you need to draw that kind of art again,” Skyquake said, “remember you can talk to me about anything. I don’t like thinking you’re in here upset and trying to take it all on by yourself. If you still need to draw it out too, that’s cool, but I’d feel better if I knew you weren’t bottling it all up.”

“I promise if I need to, I’ll talk to you about it,” Dreadwing said, hoping his smile didn’t look as forced as it felt. “I know you’ve got my back.”

“Good, I’ll see you in the mess then,” Skyquake said.

He left Dreadwing alone in the room once again, and he began to pack up his paints. Methodically, he put them away one by one and he both felt lighter and heavier at the same time.

Dreadwing felt loved because his brother loved him; he felt like a traitor because he had to break that promise in the future. Yellowjacket was one source of emotions that he just could never share with his twin, split-spark or not.

He leaned his head back and dragged his fingers down his face. Dreadwing got to his feet and picked up his sketch book. He kept it closed and put it on his berth next to the packed up paints.

Maybe he’d bring it all to the junkyard tomorrow. He’d always wanted to draw the seagulls that gathered there, and Primus knew he needed something relaxing after today.

If he was lucky, maybe Yellowjacket would be there. Dreadwing flexed his wings and headed to his quarter doors. If he was going to lie to his brother and keep secrets, it might as well be for something worth it.


End file.
